Left 4 Dead: Great Britain
by Morgan711
Summary: Fourteen years after the fateful disaster that engulfed the American continents, the supposedly dead virus is rearing its ugly head once again, Great Britain in it sights. This story follows a group of friends, fighting tooth and nail to escape this hell.
1. Introduction & Prologue

**LEFT 4 DEAD: GREAT BRITAIN**

**I****ntroduction**

In the waning months of 2008, a disease of unprecedented magnitude gripped the North and South American continents within its ferocious grasp, leading to destruction of scales never before seen by humanity. By 2009, all Americans were either infected… or killed by those infected. An international quarantine was instated upon the far-western hemisphere and their peoples by the surviving nations of the world. Any who were bold and brave enough to escape the horror that had subdued them were regarded as carriers and taken into laboratories to investigate the disease. Only those Americans that were already living in other nations prior to the assumed 'patient zero's' infection were left alive and free from persecution, granted new nationalities.

Any visitation to the infected countries was completely restricted, with any aircraft detected in the vicinity shot down with minimal warning; the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans extensively policed by all manner of supranational organisations. Although they claimed any chance of infection across the oceans was absurd, and that they had extensively researched all avenues for vaccination, the truth was merely that the infection was no longer spreading, and had been halted where it began. The rest of the world could now rest assured that it was safe from any possibility of there being a repeat of the catastrophe that razed entirely Canada, the United States, Mexico and the other nations of the Americas.

Now, fourteen years after the first infection, the United Kingdom carries on in a world where Europe now dominates the world market, alongside its Asian rivals, with a new economic boom well on the horizon, promising success and prosperity for the peoples of the world… as well as something far more sinister for the expectant millions…

**P****rologue**

_Day 2_ _Tuesday 13__th__ September 2022_

_5:12pm_

_22 Queens Road, Westcliff-on-Sea_

Joshua Wong set down the cleaver and picked the deadly sharp filleting knife. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, considering where to make the next incision, then made a thin horizontal cut, separating flesh from bone with practised ease. It was one of the benefits of an early end to the working day, he thought as he finished filleting the herring on his chopping board, that one could devote plenty of time to one's hobbies. Joshua's was experimental cooking, and his wife, daughter and their circles of friends often bore the brunt of his 'creative genius'. He glanced at the clock and flicked on the radio before picking up the cleaver and attacking another herring. At ten past five every weekday his friend Daniel hosted '_Raven's Flight Home'_, the local drive-time programme, and Joshua always made a point of showing his support, especially with Holly in the next room. Even at eight years of age, his daughter had eagerly grasped the concept of blackmail. He whistled along with a song as he thought about his friend. Although it made him feel guilty afterward, Joshua couldn't help feeling a little pity for his old friend. Daniel's life wasn't turning out too well: He had had plenty of relationships, but none of them lasted very long and most had ended badly; his last boyfriend had run off with his car, for one thing. He also kept running back to the same man, time and time again, despite ongoing difficulties, and adopted daughter that hated him, although the feeling was not reciprocated. And a couple of years ago, he'd managed to get his driving licence revoked, although he was now back to darting around town in his very first car, a dilapidated off-lilac Ford Ka; a vehicle everyone looked down upon, even Daniel. Still, the radio presenter was earning more than Joshua's humble wage; North Street didn't pay enough for the French language teacher to enjoy more than a few of life's simple luxuries, although if he were to cancel his gym membership he could probably afford a few more – it went neglected until a step on the scales spurred him guiltily into action for a few weeks.

_Southend Radio HQ, Southend Seafront_

A deep, satisfied sigh of thirst-quenched relief accompanied the accidental spilling of tea over paperwork and the desk on which it sat. The hot liquid spilled over its edge and onto the guilty party's right leg, causing him to rise briskly and swear, hoping to God that the station's recording equipment didn't pick up his curse as _Video Killed the Radio Star _by _The Buggles_ played on the set.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Daniel said plainly to himself, trying in vain to swipe the tea from his now-damp jeans.

"You alright?" Matt Turner poked his head round the corner, an amused look on his face as he sighted the radio presenter's obvious annoyance. "You gone and wet yourself again?"

"Shut up!" Daniel moved to chase the cook off, succeeding in making Matt almost trip down the spiral stairs as he did so, giving Daniel a reason to laugh right back. It had already been a long day, particularly given how many people had taken ill in the last couple of days. He didn't care much, though. Granted, he enjoyed being the joker of the station and the attention he garnered from that, but for the most part, he preferred being the only presenter working; he was tired of having to share the microphone with that stuck-up, homophobic Carly, and work was a sweet release after being stuck at his home in Belfairs with civil partner Jack and their rebellious teenage adoptee, Rose. She had aged him more in the last three years than Jack did in the past twelve, not that he didn't love them both greatly.

The telltale and over-cheery theme tune to _Raven's Flight Home _played, signalling it was time for Daniel to address his listeners, and tell them all about the latest news on weather and transport, jobs usually left to the co-presenter that wasn't present.

"Well, here it is again, my little birds, that time when I bore you about cars crashing! On the A127, there's been just such a collision…"

_Southend Victoria Police Station, Southend-on-Sea_

The grey-haired, uniformed officer released his tight grip on the younger man's hand, ending their uncomfortably prolonged handshake. A small red crown adorned the uniformed man's epaulettes, signifying his superior rank of Superintendent, clearly commanding respect from the man in his late-twenties standing before him, although he could easily pass for late-thirties – not something many men would, or even should, be proud of.

"Thank you, sir."

"It wasn't me that put you forward, Morgan. You must have done something to impress that Chief Inspector of yours. Just don't mess it up." The Superintendent was almost growling. "This is a gamble, promoting you to Inspector so early _and _making you top-dog of SCU. If it goes wrong, it makes us all look bad, not just your smarmy self." He continued to glare at Christopher Morgan, looking him up and down, still not liking what stood before him; his natural distrust of detectives did nothing to help his mood, already worsened by this chesty cough of his. "Dismissed. You start bright and early tomorrow."

DI Morgan nodded to Southend Victoria's local Super., pleased to be finally out of the over-spacious office. The pair had never got on, particularly given Chris' typical disregard for over-zealous superior officers and stubborn attitude. However, it was that attitude that managed to get him this post, finally, after months of working at it.

His footsteps echoed through the corridors, the cheap cream paint that coloured the walls reflecting the dim, yellow hue that came from the ceiling lights upsetting his eyes, and furthering the opinion the government building was heavily under-funded. Chris stopped at the coffee machine as he progressed towards the exit, deciding he would wet his whistle before leaving proper; he was eager, however, to get home and have a sleep… after his routine call to Samantha, of course. His wife of eight years was currently enjoying the high life of a hot summer in Spain with their three children, visiting her ailing grandmother, whose joints had taken a turn for the worse. Chris, naturally, was invited also, but was saved by the promotion and change of affairs. Even Samantha considered that more important. Moreover, it gave the newly appointed DI some time to rest at home by himself, enjoying some downtime from the family. He removed the plastic cup from the machine, and sipped a sizeable amount of the searing hot fluid, burning the inside of his mouth. Had he not been so sleep deprived of late, the police officer would not have even considered touching the caffeine-loaded beverage. Wincing at the flavour, he dropped the cup in the bin beside the machine, unable to bring himself to drink any more of it.

_Bugger this, _he looked wearily down at his watch. _I'm going home._


	2. PART ONE Chapter One

_**P**__**art**__** O**__**ne**__** – **__**Southend-on-Sea**__**  
**_

_**C**__**hapter **__**O**__**ne**_

Day 3

_Wednesday 14__th__ September 2022_

_5:34pm_

_Southend Victoria Police Station_

The dimming lights flickered in the open room, lit only by that and the setting autumn sun, giving the area a warm yellow glow that would last for a couple more hours, yet. A young man exited the stairwell and strode over to the centre desk, in his arms a lengthy black Crombie jacket, brown fur flecked across the ends of the sleeves, indicating the owner of the jacket spent time amongst cats. The man was of average height, and was looking around the circular room in dismay at the absence of the usual hustle and bustle of a busy workplace. His attention was drawn to an older police constable coughing into clasped hands as he headed off down one of the narrow walkways to the adjoining building. Deciding he was in no need of immediate assistance, the twenty-nine year-old stepped toward the uniformed man behind the desk, who in turn looked up at this new face.

"Bit empty today, isn't it?" the man enquired, looking out of the automatic glass doors at an ambulance parked outside the library down the road, evidently tending to someone in need of their assistance inside. Even as he watched another drove past and went screaming down the road, its siren blaring.

"Yeah," the desk sergeant started, his wiry brown hair a tangled mess, "we lost four Monday, six yesterday and another five today, as well as an extra two having to leave during work hours! All with this bug that's going about." He chuckled to himself, making his nametag (that read 'Sergeant Richards') bob up and down with his heaving chest. "Talk about understaffed! Even I'm not supposed to be on-duty today. Covering for Sergeant Hussein. What about you, sir? Headed home?"

The inspector turned his attention back fully to Richards, still mesmerised by the cacophony of various types of sirens being heard in the distance. "Not home just yet, sergeant. Meeting a friend at the pub, as we haven't had much of a chance to catch up lately, what with everything that's going on here, at the moment."

"Ha, very true, sir. You're now in charge of that Serious Crimes thingy, aren't you?"

The superior, yet decidedly younger, officer laughed. "Yes, I am. Detective Inspector Christopher Morgan." Chris extended his hand for a shake. "Transferred over from Leigh just yesterday."

The sergeant returned the shake, looking at the inspector through his curiously green eyes, smiling a small smile at Morgan. "Well, good to meet you, DI Morgan. No doubt I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"No doubt, my good sergeant. No doubt." Chris finished signing himself out of the station, placing the cheap biro back on the desk all visitors to and workers of the station must pass through, looking up to smile and wink at this new acquaintance. "If I don't decide to pull a sickie myself."

"Have a good evening, sir."

"You too." Morgan turned on his heel, donning his Crombie jacket as he walked towards the doors, both opening automatically to allow him to leave, with Sergeant Richards smiling as he watched the back of Chris disappear around the corner before returning to updating the papers he had been working on before his welcome interruption, despite his growing annoyance at the incessant coughing of the constable down the corridor.

DI Morgan scurried around the pockets of his dark blue jeans, struggling to grasp his car keys as he walked across the police station's courtyard, finding the crisp autumn air welcoming upon his prematurely matured face.

"Bugger!" Chris exclaimed as he dropped the keys he finally managed to find. Just as he was rising, brown and red leaves billowing across the damp concrete surface of the car park, he noticed yet another ambulance tending to a couple of unconscious figures across the road, but with only one paramedic on the scene; the number of RTCs being reported in the last couple of days had nigh on crippled the National Health Service's emergency responses; although nothing had been declared as of yet to the public, it was clear something was severely wrong. All across the country incidents such as that taking place across the road to Morgan were becoming more and more commonplace, and even those on the news were struggling to hold themselves back in their addresses to the public. However, the British public was already making its own assumptions about the growing tension in the country, with social networking sites such as Facebook and Twitter flooded with panicked status updates and irreverent conspiracy theories of diabolical magnitudes. The government had been considering shutting the websites down, in the hopes it would calm the populace. At any rate, it didn't affect Christopher, who participated in them as little as he could.

He pushed the key into its socket and climbed into the four-door saloon, carefully sliding himself onto the leather chair, pleased with the relative comfort of the vehicle. _Better than that bloody Ford of Daniel's,_ he thought inwardly to himself, deciding that Southend Library was in dire need of some maintenance work as the engine growled to life, providing the car with a pleasant humming undertone as its systems came online. Chris tapped some of the buttons on the dash, prompting the activation of the on-board phone/MP4 player hybrid system – a recent addition to his own car – that had become commonplace in modern vehicular transport. His own Virgin-brand Phone-Music Hybrid Device (a PMH) was always viewed as a distraction by the young detective, but he had learnt to appreciate some of its more useful avenues, primarily that of communication. He opened the glove box to retrieve a pair of old leather driving gloves, stretching them around his fingers as the system came to life.

"_TWO NEW MESSAGES." _The machine read to him in a staunch male voice, one from Chris' father and one from Joshua.

"Play all." He stated firmly, hoping desperately the PMH would finally recognise his voice; even in this day and age, technology wasn't what it promised to be. "Piece of crap," he said, glaring at the red ERROR symbol displayed across the bright screen, manually tapping it to open the communiqués, that same computerised voice replaying the written messages to him.

"_FIRST MESSAGE, RECEIVED TODAY, AT 2:34PM, FROM CONTACT; 'DAD': Hi, son. Can't make it tonight, as I don't feel too well. Glad you're managing to find some free time, finally. See you tomorrow, maybe? END OF MESSAGE ONE. SECOND MESSAGE, RECEIVED TODAY, AT 5:42PM, FROM CONTACT; 'WONG, JOSHUA'. Hey, we still on for the Cricketer's, right? I'm here already, and was just making sure you hadn't got this bug everyone else seems to. See you soon? END OF MESSAGE TWO."_

_Should be fine, _Morgan thought, pressing the delete option on the touch screen. "Call…" he spoke slowly but loudly, trying once again to get the PMH to register his words, "Wong, Joshua." The acceptance tone sounded, indicating his victory over the infernal device, only to be replaced by the dialling tone as he waited for his old friend to pick up, himself refusing to start the engine until he had had his conversation. Chris sat back a little in the comfy leather chair.

_Bloody answer phone_. "Alright, I'll leave a message: leaving the station now, and will be there very shortly." He sighed at his futile attempts at trying to bend technology to his whims. "Just driving over now, mate."

There were far more marked police cars in their bays than usual, as to be expected, given this sudden-hitting illness so many were coming down with. At first, those ill would show symptoms via coughing fits that became less and less sporadic, with the individual coughing and spluttering more often than not. These flu-like effects continued with inflamed glands around the body and severe fevers, with those suffering complaining of extreme fluctuations in body temperature, and hormone levels disturbing to any physician. Furthering on from this, the patient's skin would become pale, somewhat mottled, with a grey hue to their aura, a view not dissimilar to that of plague-sufferers. The list of complaints would go on: painful bowel movements, extreme nausea, uncontrollable itching, fits, sensitivity to noise… some even had to be committed to specialist wards in hospitals, with curious growths developing across the hands, feet and other areas of the body less than polite to discuss in public. A few even behaved with rabid-like symptoms, resulting in some minor police action in hotspots across the land. Whatever this illness, plague, disease was, there seemed to be no slowing it, and Detective Inspector Morgan was not blind to this fact as he sat in his brand-new BMW (that had made a sizeable dent in his reasonably-stocked bank account), swearing at the slow-moving traffic, the stuck on blue emergency lights of an improvised emergency vehicle at the roundabout ahead, just within his eye line. Numbers flitted across the heads-up display of his car's windscreen, dictating various traffic laws to the bemused driver as he grew ever-closer to the car in front, distressing him with the estimated distance till collision in bold red letters in the bottom right corner of his vision. This case was no worse than one a colleague had told him about earlier in the day, who spoke of a whole area in Basildon being shut down, and a small riot ensuing in the vicinity, adding to the chaos.

_As if people would have the common decency not to keep calm during a crisis._ Chris silently mused to himself, flicking the radio on, the Southend Radio logo appearing on the PMH before the music began to play, clearly picked by his friend Daniel for his radio show. "Wonder how the old bastard's doing," he said aloud to no one in particular, his hands gripping tightly the black and brown leather wheel, caressing the comfortable indentations for his fingers. "Been too long since we've sat down an- BLOODY HELL!" The sudden exclamation met with the skidding of tyres as his car stopped abruptly, narrowly avoiding a collision with the vehicle that had swerved off in front, nearly knocking an old-aged pensioner over in the process. "Christ's sake!"

He was about to note the number plate down when the car reversed suddenly, climbing the verge on the opposite side, going straight over it, and pulled off down the opposite road in the other direction, Chris only getting half the digits down as he radioed a message back to the station, deciding this was not going to get in the way of his evening.


	3. Chapter Two

_L4D:GB_

_**C**__**hapter **__**T**__**wo**_

_Day 3_

_Wednesday 14__th__ September 2022_

_6:13pm_

_The Cricketer's Inn_

The bar in which they always met was, for want of a better word, a dive, picked by Chris because he enjoyed watching Joshua squirm with discomfort at being so out of place. He always tried to arrive first so that he could see the barman's expression when Joshua asked for a glass of hot water, a Chinese habit he had reluctantly picked up from his father. On this occasion Chris was too late; he could see Joshua at a table in the corner under a light, scribbling away with a critical red teacher's pen with a clear glass steaming in front of him. He pushed open the heavy door and entered.  
Chris stepped through the double-doors, his stride ever-present as he walked to the centre of the uncharacteristically empty room, taken back by the lack of patrons in the normally busy public house. Chris shot a quick look at the _Fosters_ beer clock hanging from the wall in the otherwise bland room, save for some dim lights and two sleeping customers in the corner of the room. His sharp eyes locked onto Joshua sitting away from bar, his rudimentary brown-coloured attire the first thing the police officer recognised.

"Long time, no see," Christopher remarked as he stepped over to the bar, not too far his friend's chosen resting place. "I'm the liking the jacket," he added, his sarcastic tone ever-present as he smiled to the taller man. Before a reply could be heard, however, he nodded to the bartender, who appeared suspiciously young to the inspector as he ordered his drink, placing the coinage on the sticky bar surface in preparation. "Pint of _Summer Lightening_, please."

"You're late," the man in brown simply replied, not looking up from his work, inwardly enjoying the prospect of irritating his newly-arrived companion, pausing to put his pen down only to sip from the warm glass. "It's not the first time, either." Chris laughed as he nodded to the bartender after taking the pint glass in his hand; the condensation ran down its glass curves, wetting the inspector's still-gloved fingers. "And you don't have to keep those on all of the time, either." Joshua was now looking up at his friend, indicating the gloves with the end of his pen, his brown eyes quite stark behind his glasses, which he then removed and set aside, along with his paperwork. Hereditary poor eyesight had condemned him to needing varifocals at twenty-nine, which he avoided by adding a pair of glasses to his contact lenses while reading. A sarcastic comment about going to _Specsavers_ entered Chris' mind, but he decided not to open his mouth save to gulp another mouthful of his tan-coloured beverage. "Don't drink too much of tha-"

"Yes, thank you, mother, I am aware I am driving." Morgan placed his pint glass onto the table the teacher was working at, throwing his gloves recklessly next to it as he sat opposite. He reclaimed his drink once comfortable, and took another swig. "It's bloody mayhem out there, mate; arseholes running – and driving – around all over the place. Almost ended up spending the evening drinking my beer through a straw… the amount of emergency vehicles about, too!"

"Had your work cut out, of late? Thought you got yourself promoted, Chris. No more running after ne'er-do-wells down the street?" Joshua looked up at the static on the television propped up in the corner of the dark room, dismayed at missing the six o'clock news.

"Yeah, it's been good." Chris took another sip, savouring the taste for a few seconds. "None of that changes the fact there's only about ten of us that have actually turned up for work today… there've been terrible amounts of accidents and collisions and what have you; they're using regular vans and trucks as emergency ambulances to cover everything that's been going on." He eyed one of the sleeping men, slightly disgusted at the sight of the fluid seeping from one of his nostrils, deciding to turn back to Joshua. "What's it been like at the school?"

A sad grin grew across the thicker-set man's face. "Not much better. Most of the teachers aren't in, and even substitutes aren't turning up… just over the last couple of days, too." His pale face grew grim. "I feel sorry for the kids; some of them are clearly too ill to even be there, but parents – too ill themselves to look after them, from what I've seen – have still sent them in."

"Bloody ridiculous, isn't it?" Another sip. "And how about your lovely ladies? They haven't come down with this flu-thing, have they?"

"Not yet. Well, I doubt either of them will. The amount of time she's spent in those relief areas, Saw doesn't seem to catch anything. Holly's absolutely fine. Missing her friends." Joshua turned his head as he recognised the _Raven's Flight Home _theme play in the distance, Daniel's voice barely audible over the albeit quiet murmur of the public house. He threw a thumb in the direction of the radio. "You a fan?"

Chris chuckled, putting the nearly empty glass back down on the mat he had picked up, arching his fingers together as his elbows rested on the table. "It keeps me amused in the hour or so after work. Speaking of which," he glanced at his analogue watch, citing the time quietly to himself, "we can go pick up the witless wonder in a little while. I take it I can't drink anymore until later, mum?" He quipped as he evaluated the couple of centimetres of liquid still sloshing in the large glass.

"Quite right, too, boy." Josh smiled a toothy grin before turning to listen to what Daniel was saying over the radio, barely managing to hear whatever may be playing through that microphone in front of Mr Raven's mouth.

"Well, that was a fun little song now, wasn't it?" The radio presenter exclaimed cheerily into the equipment sitting in front of him. "Now, don't think me rude, but I must answer nature's dirty little call, so I leave you here now in the good company of _Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody_ to cover my chances – don't go anywhere!"

* * *

Standing tall at six foot two, Daniel darted out of the doors, rushing down the stairs two steps at a time, narrowly missing the last step, luckily saving himself with the banister. In the few seconds thereafter to allow his heart to return to its normal pattern of beats, he noticed – with some withheld shock – how absent the seafront was, alarmed by the complete absence of hustle and bustle usually present, even in September, come rain or shine. All he could see in the distance was another build-up of traffic; the line extended from the Kursaal (now merely a tourist attraction, rather than a dance hall) well up to the theme park – Adventure Island – Southend Radio was situated next to.

As he stepped from the café into the reception area, he also noticed Julie, the receptionist, was absent from her chair, although her nail file suggested she hadn't been gone long, as well as a half-finished instant messenger conversation on her computer still running. _Ever the lazy bitch,_ Dan thought to himself, picking up the key to the toilet from the table. _Shouldn't even be here today, the way she's been choking and spluttering all over the place. Could catch something!_ He opened the window in the men's toilets, a sharp, cold wind blowing through immediately, catching him off-guard and sending a shiver down his spine. The salty air was still a pleasant change from that of cold tea and unclean, damp carpets.

The muffled sounds of horns greeted Daniel as he stepped back out of the room, locking the door behind him, the window still open without his realising. "What the?" He glanced over his shoulder, a deft movement catching his eye from its corner, a slight rummaging noise emanating from back upstairs. A thud was heard, causing Daniel's ears to perk up and his shoulders to tense as his eyes followed the spiral stairs upwards. "Julie?" He called up them, carefully placing one foot after the other, being sure not to slip or trip as he had so many times before done so. "Matt?" It could very well be Julie, as she was absent from her workplace… but Matt was certainly the one who worked upstairs in the tech room. "What's goi-" The sentence was cut short by shouting and fumbling from the room opposite the stairs; the door was open, and the grunts and shouts of both a male and a female could be distinctly heard, although some of the noises sounded almost animalistic in nature, forcing Dan to pause before he went any further, stopped purely by a loud smacking sound, and what he believed to be something heavy hitting the floor, followed by a loud squeal that hurt the hidden listener's ears.

Dan rushed into his studio, pushing paperwork to and fro off the desk, knocking bits of his equipment side-to-side, carelessly pulling wires here and there and unwittingly activating the microphone. "Where are you, ya little bastard?" His nimble fingers rushed around the surface, finally finding their target: a set of keys. Another sound from the next room met the keys' jangling noise; whatever was in there was now stirring… and heading towards Daniel, as exposed by his blundering around the room, the sound of rushed footsteps muffled by the soft melody of Paul McCartney's _Live and Let Die_. Moving quickly, the presenter fumbled for the key that would open the display case overlooking the room from above the window onto the seafront, where a family could clearly be seen running from something, not that Dan was taking any notice of that. The baseball bat that had been in the case fell straight to floor, evading its owner's grasp and landing heavily on the floor, Dan kneeling down to reach it, pausing as he lifted the wooden object, his attention now focused on something altogether very different.

Standing in the doorway was a peculiarly tall woman, with very attractive distinguishable features; long, carefully curled blonde hair, a pleasantly curved nose, her eyes shone a vibrant blue, with well cared for red nails, and a charming floral dress… had it been any other day, at any rate. Today, however, dear Julie was not at her best; that sweet smile she always shot Daniel was absent, instead replaced by torn purple lips, which themselves sat uncomfortably, sagging at the sides as though stretched. Replacing her brilliant blue eyes were empty oceans of grey, set against a creamy backdrop, devoid even of visible blood vessels. Her nose was bludgeoned, broken by some object, likely, with near-coagulated blood already drying under her nostrils. The trademark red nails (now redder with blood, rather than anything else) were broken on one hand, and odd lengths on the other, half-filed, with her hair a complete mess, as if she had, quite simply, been dragged through a hedge backwards. Her dress was not exempt from this new unbecoming style of hers. What had once been rather artistic floral decorations was now spattered with fresh blood, and torn on one side, revealing scratch marks down one arm, evidencing further some struggle _against_ the receptionist. She simply stood, legs slightly parted, arms arching forward as sullen eyes glared deeply into Daniel's own bewildered brown ones.

"Ju-Julie…?" He brought himself up slowly, bat in hand, firmly grasping its base. The bat itself was a masterpiece, a _rare_ masterpiece at that, one of the relics of the United States. It was something Daniel treasured greatly, an old Yankees bat from before even the turn of the century, but desperate times… "Are-are you alright, Julie? Do you need help?" The woman growled softly, almost sniffing the air, as she stood, almost motionless, save for her heavy breathing. "Right… I'm just going to… move around you…" Dan began to shift his body, sliding carefully against the wall, only to be almost knocked off his feet by Julie's scream, lunging, arms forward, teeth-bared, at him. Acting through sheer instinct, Dan brought the bat round with force into the side of the crazed woman's temple, knocking her straight to the ground, her mouth now frothing as she wormed around the floor in pain, her hands and claw-like nails still outstretched in their attempts to claim Daniel's ankles, screaming aimlessly with sheer anger and frustration. Panicking, he stomped on one of her hands, the sound of the bones snapping and fracturing louder than expected, sending Julie into an even greater frenzy, her howls becoming wilder and less human. Daniel yelped, bringing his foot down once again, only this time on her head, and not simply once but again and again and again. And all the sounds in that recording studio were still being broadcast by the equipment resting next to the isolated incident of carnage, _Paul McCartney and The Wings' _Bond tunestill very much playing.

* * *

Everyone who heard it was looking in bewilderment at one another, exchanged looks of not just the expected worry, but also of sheer disbelief, with many patrons of the Cricketer's already dismissing what they heard as a media stunt. Chris and Josh, however, were not amongst their number. The former downed the last portion of his drink, stood up and claimed his gloves all in one swift motion, the latter packing his work into a briefcase and following him out of the door and into the cold outdoors.

The pair moved quickly into the car park allocated to customers, the flashing of BMW indicators signifying to the two men which car they were searching for, as Chris clicked the car keys' remote unlocking button.

Josh looked the car end-to-end before getting into the passenger's seat. "Nice… what happened to the old Peugeot?"

Chris was already in his seat, his seatbelt securely wrapped around his body when he replied. "Scrap metal." He keyed in the password for the PMH, all of the cars systems humming to life at once, the HUD of the windscreen listing the car's technical details as they reversed out of the parking space and the park itself. It was as they were driving along that Morgan broke the silence. "You know, it's not unlikely Dan might be trying to pull a stunt, you know." They turned a corner, bringing them onto a road overlooking the seafront and ocean, the water a murky green colour, fitting perfectly with the deepening orange colour of the setting sun on the horizon.

"Yeah," Joshua spoke quietly, a level of determined concentration still about him, "but I doubt even he could make sounds that believable, Chris."

"Maybe." Chris swerved to avoid hitting a poorly parked car, now turning onto the seafront itself, counting his blessings that the traffic jam hadn't quite reached this location as of yet. Josh was busying himself looking out of the windows, marvelling at how _quiet_ it all seemed. Not simply that there were not many people about, but that there was actually less background noise than he was used to. Even the estuary seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation. "Right," the inspector started, pulling up just a little bit beyond from the radio station itself, "the station's just up… hang on. You see that, Josh?"

His companion peered through his lenses towards Dan's workplace, seeing that there was a figure outside of the door, evidently trying to get in. "There's a man outside, I think… smacking on the glass doors."

"C'mon, then. See what all this bloody fuss is about." The pair walked towards the oddly shaped building, stepping more cautiously as they neared it and the man came well into vision. He was a large man – that much was evident – sporting a cap and an inhumanly large blue fleece. With all of his might, he was smacking his bloodied fists against the double doors, even going so far as to smack his head against them in a vain attempt to gain entry. His skin was a gruesome blend of blood and dried skin, and he was not a pleasant smelling individual, forcing both Chris and Joshua to cover their noses. Beyond the doors, however, sat a figure at the base of the barely visible stairs; Daniel sat hunched over, his fearful eyes not moving from the large aggressor.

"Dan!" Chris called out. "Oi, Dan!" His friend looked up, but more fright entered his eyes as the hostile force turned to face the new pair approaching from behind, shouting incoherent words and screams as he moved with unexpected and unprecedented speed towards the source of the new noise, his arms flailing wildly as he grew in speed. Lunging at an unsuspecting Morgan, he launched them both a few feet backwards and onto the hard tarmac of the road. Chris scrambled around on the spot, the large man on top of him, being held up at his forearms by his panicked victim, who was staring with great distress into the wild, milky white eyes of the floundering mad man, struggling to maintain the position under the immense weight he was holding up.

"Get this fucker off me!"


	4. Chapter Three

_**C**__**hapter **__**T**__**hree**_

_Day 3_

_Wednesday 14__th__ September 2022_

_7:02pm_

_Outside Southend Radio HQ, Southend Seafront_

The sun's rays scattered unevenly across the gently rippling River Thames, reflecting faint orange rays of light across and above the long road that viewed it, lighting up the carnage that was engulfing the ailing seaside resort. At one end, a large crowd of maniacal aggressors was ambushing those not fast enough to escape their murderous grasp. Further down, however, where things were seemingly more peaceful, a man remained locked in heated battle with one of the 'rioters'.

Chris' fist made repeated contact with the bloated man's round head, his knuckles becoming bloodied as the detective made repeated attempts to deter the crazed lunatic, but served only to enrage him further. The blue-fleeced man screamed as his jaws snapped at Chris' face, specks of sickly-smelling saliva spattering across his victim's face.

"Hit the bloody bastard!" He screamed out to Joshua, who looked panicked at the sight unfolding before him, taking a few seconds to register the events before he sprung to action, doing the first thing that came into his mind. Sporting a good weight of his own, the primary school teacher threw his own body into the capped man assaulting his friend, sending all three men rolling in a tangled heap on the tarmac. The crazed man didn't seem aware of his broken fingers as he continued to scrabble about the ground, his arms flailing wildly as he reached out for Joshua's leg, causing him to grunt in retaliation.

Although dazed, Chris rolled closer to the struggling pair, and grasped the discoloured head of the man between his hands and began to lift it up and bring it down repeatedly upon the hard surface, although it seemed to have no effect upon him as he continued to bear his teeth and scrape at Joshua's legs.

"Give it a goddamn rest!" Chris continued to shout, now pummelling the oversized head, unaware of Daniel rapidly approaching from the Radio HQ.

"Move!" He called, holding the Yankees bat high above his head, clasped firmly in his long hands as he ran full speed to the warring trio. "Now!" Both Christopher and Josh complied, managing to jolt themselves away from the intended target quickly enough to see their friend swing the wooden baseball bat down upon the man's bald head, his baseball cap missing. Coupled with the deep crunching sound of crushing bones came one last dying groan and slump as the man finally stopped scrambling, his limbs still and blood running from his nose and cracked head.

Daniel stood there, holding the base of his snapped bat, splinters in place of the shaft that had been above the handle, and blood speckled across his still tightly clenched fingers. He looked bemusedly at the wooden stump, momentarily more fixated with the fact it was amongst the last few in existence, before dropping it in realisation he had killed two human beings in the space of an hour. He began to tremble as words escaped his cold lips. "Oh my god…"

Panting and heaving as he sat on the cold surface of the road, Chris stared at the body lying dead next to him, sickened by the smell and look of the creature. His eyes had been an empty white, and his skin a mottled grey, with torn flesh and sick encrusted on his fleece. If he hadn't been trying to murder him just seconds ago, Chris would have wagered he'd been dead, or at least close to death, for quite some time. He glanced down at his right hand, noting the amount of blood seeping from around his knuckles, urging him to get up and help Josh get up.

"Thank you," was the simple reply his friend gave, fixated upon the body, also. His face had gone white, and he, too, was shaking at the joints. "Ma-maybe we should go inside?" Chris nodded, bringing his arm around Josh's, and then Daniel's, back, ushering them back into the radio station. He gave one more look to the crumpled body that was seeping thick, black blood that was practically coagulated before they got inside, with both Josh and Dan setting themselves down on the long waiting chair in the entrance.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Chris shouted rhetorically as he glared out of the glass doors back to the fight scene, sickened still by the sight.

"I killed a man." Daniel spoke glumly and slowly, his head in his hands. "And I killed a woman."

"If you hadn't done that, he was gonna bloody kill us, mate – that's self-defence, Dan." The inspector continued staring until he finally brought himself round to face the DJ and the increasingly paler Joshua. "Hang on… you killed a woman, too?" Daniel nodded. "Where? Was that what all that scuffling was on the radio?" He nodded again, and pointed upwards. "Did you call the police?"

"No I didn't bloody call the police!" Daniel screamed, his mood suddenly jumping up into the police officer's face. "I was a bit busy trying not to get myself clawed to shit by that crazy bitch!"

"Back the fuck down!" Chris retaliated, pushing Dan back by the shoulders. "Take me up there." His attention turned to Josh, who seemed distant enough to not even be there. "Coming?" Christopher stepped towards him, outstretching his bloodied hand to help him before recoiling as Joshua threw up over the cheap blue carpet. Chris grimaced before continuing to help him up. "Go into the bathroom. Have a drink of water, or something. We'll be down in a minute, and give the police a call. Find out what the fuck that was about.

The DJ was already trudging up the stairs when Chris turned around to join him, but stopped them both short when he halted at the top, and began twitching slightly. It was then that the sickly smell struck them both, reminiscent, if not as strong, of the man outside. Inside the recording studio, Julie's slumped lifeless body could be seen strewn across the floor, along with general mess from the incident that had taken place in there not too long before the new arrivals. Chris slid past Daniel and approached the room, and was tempted to try and illicit a response from the woman before noticing the significant head trauma, as well as the other marks down her body. He grimaced at the sight and its familiarity. Over the past couple of days, there had been several incidents of violent attacks, resulting in some missing suspects, or suspects claiming self-defence. Before today, Chris had dismissed it as usual unruly behaviour, taking advantage of the lack of police presence due to the sickness currently being spread about Britain.

Daniel looked up as Chris returned from his inspection, closing the door behind him, as he looked his friend in the eyes. "It was self-defence, Daniel – like the bloke outside; there's nothing you could have done." A strained smile spread across his face, rather unconvincingly. "We need to call the police. Was there anyone else around at the time?"

"Matt was here, but I didn't see him." Dan pulled himself to the top of the stairs and onto the landing with Chris, nodding towards the end of the corridor. "He's normally working in there, but he must have shot off. I didn't see him after Julie… attacked me."

"I'll take a look, then. Go see if Josh is all right. Call the police and tell them two people have died." Daniel was already headed down the stairs. "We'll get this sorted."

_What a wonderful evening, _Chris mused sarcastically to himself as he stepped in the direction Dan had indicated, _a violent assault and two dead bodies. Being off-duty is about as much fun as being on the bleeding job._ The door was slightly ajar, he noticed, as he reached out to push it open. Inside were various pieces of radio equipment thrown about, with CDs, computer chips and headphones lodged here and there, showing clear signs of a struggle. What gave this away more so, however, was the heavily breathing unconscious man rested up against the back wall.

Blood was running from his face, its origin unknown in the mess that had been made of it, and scratch marks could be seen down his arms, as well as what appeared to be red fingernail extensions lodged in his neck, where dark blood was slowly being pumped out. It hadn't hit anything major, but it was certainly taking a toll on the man, whose t-shirt had been ripped, and his incredibly pale body bruised and beaten. Above his collarbone, even, a large chunk of flesh had been torn, presumably through biting, and what looked like froth was seeping from the wound. Although he wasn't already dead, he soon would be at this rate.

Chris knelt down and felt Matt's pulse. It was slowing by the second, and his breathing was getting less and less, and the police officer deduced to disturb him now would only upset his last moments. Suddenly, as he prepared to resign himself to returning downstairs, the man's pulse increased exponentially, and his hand began to twitch. His breathing grew faster and faster, and his body began to reverberate further. A milky-white froth began to erupt from Matt's mouth, alongside small grunts growing from his chest, leading onto the even greater shaking of his whole body, forcing Chris to take a large step back as he observed the horrific sight unfolding before him, when as quickly as it started, the convulsions stopped, and Matt slumped over once more.

The observer knew all-too-well this had been detailed in the current list of symptoms for the current influenza outbreak, but had never been unlucky enough to observe it for himself. "Are you all right, Matt? I'm a police officer, I can hel-" Matt's eyes shot open, revealing green eyes that had dulled to a milky-mossy colour, and they focused completely on Chris, Matt's whole head jolting to face him. Chris went cold inside as he stepped backwards. "You stay here, and I'll, uhh, I'll jus-" The man pushed himself up using the wall, a deep hissing noise escaping from his throat, his shoulders twitching here and there. "I'm going to leave now." The roar that came next was ear-splitting from this distance, as Matt threw his whole body, hands outstretched in Chris' direction, crazed eyes fixated on their prey.

* * *

Daniel thumped the phone receiver back down on its mantle as he heard the slam from upstairs, and promptly moved to the base of the stairwell, where he saw Chris quickly returning back down the ground floor.

"What happened up there?"

"I, uhh," Chris spoke quickly, eyes flitting nervously around the room, "I think that whatever Julie and that big guy had has, uhh, well, spread to your friend Matt. He was lying there… dying, and, well, he suddenly changed. His eyes went… like the others, and he lunged at me, screaming and kicking." He paused momentarily so that the thumps and crashing could be heard. "So I locked him in there before he could take a chunk out of me."

"Matt went shizo, as well?" Daniel's look was undeniably that of a frightened child. "Grey eyes, dodgy skin and screaming?"

"Hang on," Joshua, with some colour having returned to his skin, stepped over to the pair, waving one finger in the air matter-of-factly, "aren't those some of the symptoms of this virus going about?"

"I thought it was just sneezing and coughing," Chris was calming down as he continued, "although there have been reports of violence like this."

"I know I was told not to report a lot of the news that was being sent in to us, so that we don't cause panic." Daniel said. "I wasn't even allowed to report that they shut down Facebook – they just did it."

"Some of the kids from North Street were actually taken kicking and screaming after there was a lot of biting, of all things, going on in the playground – even in some of the classes." Josh turned back to the window, squinting to look into the distance. "That's a pretty bad strain of flu, if you ask me."

"More like…" Chris stopped himself before he said the next one before actually stating it, aware of the connotations it would have "…rabies." Daniel simply glared at him for the remark before Josh spoke up.

"Oh God… Guys, I think it's time we left." He turned to the pair, a look of urgency on his face as he pointed to the large mob of screaming men, women and children charging from the Adventure Island fairground towards Southend Radio, chasing one individual that they quickly crushed and smashed beneath their combined force. "Now."


	5. Chapter Four

_**C**__**hapter **__**F**__**our **_

_Day 3_

_Wednesday 14__th__ September 2022_

_7:36pm_

_Outside Southend Radio HQ, Southend Seafront_

The trio rushed towards the BMW parked just a way from the radio station, the sound of dozens of crazed people calling after them as they sprinted to the black vehicle, Chris just managing to use the auto-lock to open the car from a distance. The crowd chasing them was closing the gap within mere seconds, and had already passed the station, and was just metres from the car as it roared to life. Scrambling hands slammed against the windows as Chris put his foot down on the accelerator and pulled away from the mob with all three men panting as they looked back at their slower pursuers.

"I take it," Chris started, in between heavy breaths, "you didn't get through to the police, then?"

Daniel shook his head as he reached into his pocket for his asthma inhaler, the sudden release of ventolin soothing his aching lungs. "Line was completely blocked. Tried other numbers, too – all of them were dead ends."

"Your phone line wasn't cut?"

"Was working fine earlier." The radio presenter shrugged in what he perceived was a casual move, although his face still betrayed his worried mind.

"Try using the PMH." Joshua tapped the dashboard as he rested back in the passenger chair next to Chris, Daniel still peering out of the back window in the rear seats.

The police officer looked down quickly to the device's screen, the large 'Virgin' logo spinning in the top right hand corner, opposite the signal bar in the top left, that read no bars next to the little image, prompting Chris to shake his head in defeat. "No signal there, either." A million and one thoughts rushed through his mind as he continued to drive down the seafront, that only now did he notice to be flocked with people running in the same direction, away from the fairground and arcades. He didn't stop to ask them why, but pulled over momentarily for them all to catch their breath.

Joshua remained sitting back in the leather chair, undoing the top button of his collar to cool down his body before cleaning his glasses and replacing them promptly. "We're not going to be going to the pub, then?" He sat there, a sombre expression on his face as he spoke to his two friends, before reaching out to turn the radio on. It crackled to life with static, something that had become less common in recent years, particularly for modern radios, and a tinny voice could be heard between the fizzing and jumping of the machine.

"_Streets not safe…Riots reaching critical lev… stay in ho… not to be confront.d… stay calm and do not make con…a…completel…overrun. Army making mov…Martial law decl…across nation. Downing…..eet hasn't conf…" _

"Sounds promising," Chris muttered, the main thought swimming amongst his others being that of the mention of rabies earlier, and the suggestion of the disease having made its way across the Atlantic. "These 'riots' aren't just happening down here, then."

"They've been happening for a couple of days, now. All of the reports we've been getting in of gang violence." Daniel spoke quickly as he remained fixated on the road behind them, still looking out for the mob that had been chasing them. "It's been hard for me to keep the show cheerful."

Joshua was looking at his phone, a picture of a young woman and child acting as the background in plain sight for the driver sitting next to him. "I need to go see that they're okay, Chris, if this thing is going on everywhere." He looked up at his friend, his composure uncharacteristically calm. In response, he simply nodded, and took the handbrake off, pulling the car once again away.

Along the pavements, individuals, couples and whole groups were making their way towards the residential area at the end of the seafront, towards the more upper-class housing, and Daniel could plainly see one man falling over and start shaking uncontrollably, with a whole group of people surrounding him as he did so. A minute later and they dispersed with great speed, and the man began to lunge at those nearest to him. As much as he didn't want to accept it, he feared Chris' assumption concerning the virus might not be far off the mark. From the few articles he had read on the 'Incident', Dan knew that it had started off pretty similarly, with riots taking hold and the infection spreading quickly over the course of under week, and that was the amount of time it took for two continents to succumb to its whim. He was well aware of how short a time it would take for Britain to fall, by comparison.

It was this hidden realisation that they all shared but refused to admit to that kept them from pulling over to help the collapsed woman rolling around the pavement, and another that was being trampled by a gang of what appeared to be crazed pensioners. A tree was toppled by a car that sat lifeless next to it, airbags expanded and taking up most of the room in the front, covering up whoever may have been nestled there.

The BMW sped along quickly, narrowly swerving between other cars, also moving at some speed, as well as some that were seemingly abandoned by the roadside. Chris had decided that road laws were not exactly at the top of his list of priorities, given the current circumstances, not that anyone else appeared to be paying too much attention to them, either, and within a few minutes, they found themselves outside of the Wong household, down Queens Road. Even here, the shouts of scared people could be heard echoing from the nearby high street; the commercial centre of Southend sounded as though barbarians were ransacking it already.

Joshua fumbled with his keys, just managing to avoid dropping them as he inserted them into the lock, and opened the door, revealing a desperate-looking woman wielding a long bladed knife, almost slicing her husband's ear off as she lashed out at the potential intruder to their home.

"Hello to you too, Saw (!)" Josh remarked sarcastically, unable to hold back a wide, cheek-splitting grin as he sighted his healthy and safe wife, immediately being embraced by her as she recognised her husband.

Even to Christopher, Stephanie Alexandra Wong ('Saw' to her friends) was a remarkable woman, having spent years abroad, working in relief areas around the world, but had paid the price for her charitable and ambitiously moral nature; she had contracted more forms of tropical diseases than the medical encyclopaedia had pages to contain them. He watched their embrace uncomfortably, eager to get inside and make some sense of their predicament.

"Can we go in, now?" Daniel spoke bluntly, nervously checking over his shoulders for any approaching attackers, and ended the happy reunion prematurely. "More of those people are gonna be here soon, if we don't get inside!"

His panicked voice led Saw to nod confidently to Daniel as she stepped to one side and motioned for them to enter, the smell of recently cooked stir-fry thick in the air - a smell very welcoming to the ever-hungry radio DJ. From around the corner, a small girl could be seen peeking at the newcomers in the hall, and her lights lit up at the sight she saw.

"Daddy!"

Joshua's smile returned once again as he turned to greet Holly, arms outstretched to welcome her into his chest. "You okay, sweetheart? Been indoors all day?" She nodded to the significantly larger man, a smile as big as his painted across her face, eyes closed as he held onto him. He looked up to his wife once more, whispering quietly, genuinely believing that Holly wouldn't be able to make out his words. "Nothing's happened, then?"

Saw spoke plainly, aware of the impossibility to prevent any eavesdropping. "A man did try and barge through about an hour ago, but I couldn't get through to you on the phone, and then I put the television on; it's all doom and gloom. They say that nationwide riots are crippling the country and that the police are powerless, so they're bringing in the army to help clean up the streets." She sighted the blood on their clothes, and her eyes widened. "What happened to you, though?"

"'Rioters'," the DI said ironically, just walking into the corridor with the rest of them, with Holly quickly turning her attention from Joshua to him, standing to attention in front of him, as if he were a drill sergeant. He chuckled to himself. "At ease, Hol. No need to go through citizens' rights today, my dear." This girl never failed to amuse him, and reminded him greatly of his own Hollie-Marie and Sarah, his twin girls, of the same age. He thanked his lucky stars they, his son and wife, were out of the country, if this truly was what he thought. Chris hugged the girl quickly before looking to the other three adults.

"Call this whatever you want," he started, hands folded across his chest, "but this place clearly isn't safe."

"You really think it's _that_, don't you?" Daniel looked quizzically at the broad-shouldered man.

"Without a doubt. I say we scarper before things get too gruesome." Chris addressed all of them. "Head to the police station; it'll be a lot safer there from attack. There are bigger walls, thicker doors and greater manpower. If this is as bad as we suspect it will be, then that's the safest place I can think of near here. It's a ten minute drive, tops, and we'll have everything we need there. Even if we go there just to co-ordinate something a bit better, it's a plan."

Daniel was already standing next to Chris, looking at Joshua. "I'm up for it."

The dark-haired Joshua was nodding slowly as he considered the option presented, and then looked once more around at the room they were standing. On the wall sat several photographs of family members now deceased, others abroad (his parents had moved away long ago, and his sister was a researcher in Cuba, analysing the American continents after the Incident), and some of those still alive. A happy portrait could be seen of the three Wongs, all smiling and cuddling on a plain white surface, embedded within a golden frame. "And what about our belongings?"

"We'd only end up slowing ourselves down, at the moment." Chris smiled in an attempt to reassure his unwilling audience, appealing to both Saw and Josh. "We can come back for it when this calms down. We just need to get ourselves settled for the time being."

Saw, although annoyed at the suggestion of leaving her home, rolled her eyes before picking Holly up and grabbing two coats from the rail on the cream-coloured wall. "Trust you to pick a police station."

"Stick with what you know, Stephanie." Chris looked at the unassuming group; the confused DJ, the bemused teacher, a worried wife and a confused child, who could quite clearly see something was wrong, despite her lack of awareness of what was really happening.

Joshua went over to his daughter, and looked her deep into her brown, glassy eyes, mirroring his very own. "Listen, Holly, when you're out there with us, ignore the sounds you hear. Don't even look at the people – just stick with me, Mum, Chris or even Daniel, if you have to, and never stop moving unless we say so. Okay?" The little girl nodded, and her father smiled at her once again before kissing her on the head, and then nodding to Chris, who in turn nodded, straightened the collar of his black overcoat, and turned towards the door, team in tow.

* * *

_**NOTE: I haven't gone into too much depth describing Saw or the Wong household, generally, yet, as this character and his arc is down to a friend of mine who will be writing snippets of the overall story, and I wouldn't like to force him to have his characters a particular way, but once I know more about how he wants them, I shall go into more details about them. Sorry.**_


	6. Chapter Five

_**C**__**hapter **__**F**__**ive **_

_Day 3_

_Wednesday 14__th__ September 2022_

_8:02pm_

_Outside Southend Victoria Police Station_

The journey to the station had been traitorous; fires had erupted down the high street, and screams of agony could be heard resounding through the town as people succumbed to the angry mobs of crazed individuals. Josh had kept Holly's head down the whole way, even two of the crazed men had attacked the car when it got caught in a jam, and had slobbered bloody saliva across one of the windows. Luckily, they had managed to pull away to safety, and were now approaching Southend Victoria Police Station, in all its glory. At the main entrance, an armoured van could be seen parked, with the words ARMED UNIT printed across its side. At the main entrance, a CO19 team of four armed officers were holding up their firearms at the approaching vehicle.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" Chris pulled the car to a stop as they approached it, showing his empty hands to the approaching police officers. The tallest opened the car door and looked around inside, and his companion remained trained upon Christopher. He unlatched the safety on his MP5 Sub Machine Gun as Chris reached inside his jacket pocket.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, sir!" He barked, spitting in Chris' face as he did so.

"Look," Chris continued, "keep your dick in your boxers – I'm a police officer. Detective Inspector Morgan, so if you don't mind?" He motioned towards the car park.

The CO19 officer glared thoughtfully at the inspector before aiming away from him and then nodding back to the other firearms officer standing by the entrance. "Can't be too sure at the moment, sir, with all of these maniacs running around. You should probably head inside, and have a word with the chief inspector; he'll be glad of any of the help he can get right now, we're stretched so thinly."

"Thank you, constable." Chris started the engine again. "And try not to scare any more children today, would you?" Holly sat in the back; her head nestled deeply into Saw, as she had been instructed on the journey here. He was impressed by her resolution, particularly given how scared they had all been themselves, and they all knew themselves that this was nothing to do with rioters.

The car pulled past through the gates and swerved around the corner into the car park. Several cars were parked awkwardly around the premises, spilling over the parking marks painted across the tarmac, some even stopped in positions that would prevent those they were next to from moving. A couple had windows that were smashed, and others had fresh scrapes and dents across them, adding to the confusion around the police station. Screams could be heard in the distance, as well as the sound of tyres screeching and cars crashing to unexpected halts.

Chris parked the car two spaces from his usual, given the fact a 4x4 was taking the position up. Despite the confusion, there was a distinct absence of police in the area trying to organise the civilians, although it appeared the armed guards had been doing a good job regulating those entering the station grounds. The grounds, themselves, were mostly concrete and tarmac, but the council had seen it suitable to plant decorative trees along the main path to the reception, as well as pleasant flora trailing around the two World War memorials. Lazy cleaners had left ivy to almost entirely envelop the Essex Police logo painted across the wall to the right of the entrance.

The group of five headed towards the glass doors, Holly in Joshua's arms, Saw next to them, and Daniel quietly shuffling at the back of the group, his eyes nervously twitching in his head. Chris could see at least two-dozen civilians sitting and standing around in the police lobby, some nursing each other's wounds, others reassuring panicking relatives, and a few sitting by themselves as they sobbed quietly to themselves. A few police officers were rushing around, carrying papers and equipment between rooms, with one wiry-haired sergeant taking charge amongst the group.

Sergeant Richards sighted Morgan and his companions immediately as they stepped through the entrance, making a beeline for them after slamming a pistol down on the main desk. The smile he had happily sported earlier was now absent, replaced instead by weary eyes and greasy skin. The officer had removed his tie, his sleeves were rolled up and his stab vest was now donned. "Guess we'll be seeing each other a bit sooner than tomorrow, eh, sir?" He looked at the others. "This probably wasn't the best place for you all to come, you know? Better than anyone, you're aware of how few officers we have in the station, and now all these people are just running up here and expecting us to protect 'em from those rioters!" One of the women sitting up against the back wall coughed up some blood. "And we're having to put up with this damned virus. Which, I might add," Richards threw a box of painkillers from his pocket to the women, "is taking its toll more than anything else at the moment. Our medical training is too basic for some of the wounds these guys have taken, too."

"Maybe I can help?" Saw stepped forward. "I've an overall of four years spent in Third World countries, helping relief forces with medicine and healthcare." Joshua's wife, her shoulder-length black hair flicking as he turned quickly, went over to the blood-spewing woman, who was growing paler by the second. The child next to her had a wound on his arm that had blood streaming from it, and had completely drenched the poorly held together bandage. "This is terrible," she muttered to herself. "He's been bitten… badly." She felt the other's forehead. "They're running fevers."

Her three male companions simply glared at one another in response, but were equally confounded by the fact that no one else seemed to be making the connection, or at least, they didn't _want _to make the connection.

"We've thrown every drug we've got at them, but nothing seems to be helping them. DI Morgan, I think you should go see the chief inspector." Richards passed a first aid box to Saw. "He's the highest rank still around… not that you would know it down here. He came in about two hours ago, all high and mighty to help us sort all this crap out, then he went up there, and has barely come down since."

"Alright." Chris nodded to the sergeant before turning back to the other three. "Dan, you stick with the Wongs, and I'll go see Burt." He smiled. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I also just need to pick something up from my office."

Joshua was the first to nod, and immediately set Holly down away from the other 'refugees', and sat down next to her, keeping her occupied. Daniel immediately went to Richards' side, helping him in his duties as Christopher walked away towards the stairwell. He adjusted his collar before looking over his shoulder one more time, eyeing the groaning civilians in the dim light of the police station; street lights outside were providing more light than those actually in the building, although this was no change from normal. Despite his expectations of safety, the familiar cream walls did little to ease his mind.

On his way along the corridor, Chris passed a window. Outside, the armed officers could be seen looking down the road, which was surprisingly empty for the chaos that could literally be heard in the distance. Cars attempted to weave in and out of one another down roads, and some of the 'rioters' could be heard. The night sky was becoming cloudy, and the temperature was beginning to drop – it had been said that this was going to be a cold winter and autumn.

Chief inspector Burt King was sitting quietly, by himself, in the Superintendent's office. Against all regulations, he was smoking a cigarette, and had a gun resting on the desk he sat at. The office was a nice size, and there were beautiful landscape portraits of seaside scenery adorning the walls, as well as a well-furnished bookcase by the entrance, with all manner of police guides and historical tomes littering the shelves. On the desk Burt sat at, a well-sized photograph sat nestled in a golden frame, the superintendent and his family standing in front of the Eiffel Tower could be seen beaming back at the taker of the photograph. With his free hand, Burt carefully stroked his greying beard, and his brown eyes remained closed until Chris knocked on the door, almost startling the older officer. "Who is it?"

"Inspector Morgan, sir. Can I come in?"

Burt took one long drag of the cigarette before stubbing it out on the desk, not caring that it left a scorched circle on his superior's furniture. "Go for it, inspector."

Chris stepped in, and was immediately taken back by Burt's appearance – the usually well-kempt and orderly man was now quite the opposite. His thinning hair was tangled, his eyes bloodshot, and the smell of tobacco was thick in the air, with several cigarette butts littering the tiled floor. "Sergeant Richards says you've not come down since arriving, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Burt laughed as he pulled another cigarette from inside his dress uniform jacket, lighting it with a silver-finish Zippo lighter, that he quickly placed back in front of him, before quickly offering Morgan one as an afterthought.

"I'd rather not, sir. Only the odd celebratory cigar for me."

The superior officer chuckled once again. "There's not much to celebrate about, is there, Morgan? And I'm afraid there's nothing you can do to help," his voice was sickly sweet, with a strong sarcastic tone. "Although it's a very kind offer, inspector."

Chris' eyes flashed at the attitude, with him struggling to hold his tongue, even in this situation. "With all due respect, sir," he started, through gritted teeth, "you're the highest ranking officer on scene. You should be down there running the show – not leaving it to overworked and tired desk sergeants!"

"You don't think I came here with that very intention, to actually help with all this shit going on out there?" Burt motioned out of the glass window behind him that acted as the wall, overlooking the pathway up to the station. "I rushed here, left my sickly wife at home along, to try and be of some help to these brave men and women here, as soon as I saw the rioters outside. I get here, fending off whacko mobs on the way, start calling the shots and get everyone organised, only to have this document," Burt thrust a large brown envelope across the desk towards Chris, "shoved in my face as soon as I walk in." The chief inspector waved at it. "Take a look for yourself." Chris stepped over for closer inspection. Large red letters were printed across the front of the document, labelled 'EMERGENCY'. "Here's me thinking: 'great - the government's doing something about this. Maybe we can sort this, but oh no… nothing of the likes." Chris turned the first page over, immediately met by images of bruised, bloody and, simply, rabid individuals, as well as diagrams of black and white men attacking one another, scratching, punching and biting, with the first and last circled in big red ink. 'PANDEMIC' was printed at the top of every page. "It says," another sick laugh, "that these rioters are 'ill'… that they're not really mobs of angry people, but instead… well, you're a clever boy. Figure it out for yourself."

"America."

"America." Burt confirmed, a creepy smile enveloping his craggy face. "It seems the old virus has crossed the pond. See why I'm sitting here now? Smoking every last one of these bastard things before I make peace with my nine millimetre? We're fucked, inspector, and I'd rather die with dignity than be chomped on by a member of the bleedin' public!"

Chris continued to leaf through the document. It didn't say anything of any orders, or of how it started, or of what to do in any way; it detailed only that they should be avoided at all costs, and if possible, terminated. Pictures seemed to make up most of it all, with a few curious images of patients with tumour-like growths, and sickly fluids seeping from their bodies. X-rays depicted deformed skeletal growths, also, in some patients. "So you're just going to sit here?"

"Like I said. Maintain some dignity. Why? Where am I gonna go? My wife's got that bloody flu thing, so she's infected, and I don't have any kids! I'm happy where I am." Burt looked into his cigarette box. "Only one left, anyway."

"You're a police officer, Burt! You should be down there helping those people protect themselves and fight back! You've got a gun – it's as that said, we need to terminate any of those things if they get too close, and we have the capability to do that, to save lives!"

"Did you see the ones down there, coughing and spluttering? Puking up blood? They're going to turn, too, you know? Chances are, you will, as well. I'm fucked if I'm sticking around those bastards, just so they can spas out and take a chunk out of me. I've got my plan sorted." He patted his gun carefully, no sign of remorse on his face.

"Look, we've got men outside with MP5s guarding us, you've got your gun, a few officers downstairs are armed, and there's bound to be more in the evidence room. I have a pistol in my office, so just stay here, get your bullets, and I'll come back to get you. We'll get downstairs and help the others." Even before his superior could reply, Chris was darting down the corridor to where the Serious Crimes Unit lay. Inside, all of the lights were off, and the desks were empty. No cases had been taken up during the day, and the blank white board reflecting this. At the end of the room, another small room lay, with glass windows looking into the pitch-black office, the blinds pulled. Across the glass-paned door, the words 'DI MORGAN' were written.

Chris pulled a small shiny key from within his Crombie, the blue tag matching the blue sticker above the lock his office door, and he opened the door with a satisfying click. He turned the light on, and stepped behind the mahogany desk he had had delivered from his house, the piece of ornate furniture originally belonging to his granddad. Through the use of another key, the inspector opened one of the drawers to the side, and reached inside, pulling a square leather box from within, as well as three small cardboard boxes that he rest next to the larger. Inside, red velvet lined the box's walls, protecting Chris' 'own little piece of America', as he had always called it.

The mass of the silver Colt Python .357 magnum revolver was satisfyingly heavy in the police officer's hand. Holding it by its wooden grip, Chris loaded six bullets from the cardboard box into the revolver's barrel, then spinning in before locking back into place. From the coat hanger, he retrieved his holster, and tied it around his left shoulder, firmly slotting the Python into place before looking over his office once more. On his desk, the picture of him, Samantha and their three children smiled back at him, spurring him to pull the picture from its frame and begin folding it to put it in his pocket, before he heard the cracking of a pistol being fired.

"Shit!" He swore as he ran out of his office, almost collapsing into one of the desks in his hurried exit. Chris smacked down the door to the superintendent's office just as Joshua and an unknown constable arrived to see Burt lying motionless, collapsed over the desk, blood running from his head over all of the paperwork detailing the infection, and dripping onto the floor. Blood, brains and bone was spattered across the wall of fine paintings, and the picture of the superintendent's family had been turned away, with a lone cigarette still smouldering amongst the other butts.

"Jesus Christ!" Joshua's eyes were wide and worried behind his glasses, and he turned away just in time to cover his mouth with his hand, holding back any vomit that may have passed his lips and onto the police constable's shoes. His throat burned as he restrained himself at the sight. Before either Chris or the PC could speak, the popping of more gunfire could be heard, this time from outside of the station. The trio stepped over to the window, avoiding the spreading blood pool on the floor, and noticed the CO19 officers firing their SMGs at approaching infected individuals.

"Bollocks." Chris instinctively drew his revolver, as well as prying the 9mm pistol from Burt's hand. "Get down there!" He shouted at the PC before passing the chief's gun to Josh. "Josh, take this. I'm just going to get you the ammo for it." The consideration of having to put his hand in Burt King's pocket repulsed him, particularly given the fact he would have to pull the body backwards on the chair to reach his intended target. "Oh God…" he whimpered slightly as the gingerly brought Burt backwards in his chair, making his head flop backwards, and more blood dripping to the floor as a result. Chris avoided looking at the large, red hole in his former superior's head as his hand crept into Burt's inside pocket, pulling out two spare magazines and a few individual bullets from inside that he quickly passed to his friend.

"You do know I've never fired a gun before, Chris." Josh looked solemnly at his friend, and bemusedly at the weapon now in his hand.

"That is a Browning HP 9mm pistol – it's not regulation, but it's simple. It's already got bullets in it, and we don't have time for me to show you how to use it." He looked out of the window, and was increasingly alarmed by the number of infected charging at the station; a huge horde of them was screaming and sprinting from the other end of the road. "We need to get downstairs and leave now. We won't be able to stop all of them. Get down there, get the girls and Dan, and run to the car. Use the rear exit and don't slow down."

Joshua nodded, but a confused look grew on his face. "You not coming with us?"

"I'm going to grab what we can from downstairs and will meet you there." Chris passed his car keys to the teacher. "Just don't leave without me."

The pair rushed down the stairs, the sound of gunfire louder and closer now as they entered the main lobby again. By the doors, Sergeant Richards could be seen firing his pistol towards those that were getting closer. The CO19 officers appeared to be struggling to hold so many off; the infected mob was relentless, continually charging, ignoring the bullets that didn't cripple or kill them, not stopping in their pursuit of their prey. Joshua immediately ran to Saw and Holly, picking the little girl up and taking his wife by the hand, literally dragging her away from one man who had begun to shake and tremble, with froth spurting from his torn mouth.

"No, Stephanie! He's gone! We need to go! Daniel! Get over here!" Daniel's crazed eyes were focused on the attackers now getting closer and closer to the station, each time the officers reloaded giving them time to close the distance. "Daniel!" He snapped out of it with a shake of his head, and he panicked slightly at the sight of the shaking man, and the jolting bodies scattered around the room, as if they had been awoken suddenly. He quickly joined the Wongs and ran down the unlit corridor with them.

Chris felt his grip on the Colt tighten at the sight of the infected humans in the station beginning to stir, reminiscent of Matt at the radio station. He knew what was going to happen. Just as he was about to call out to Sergeant Richards, the child that had been bleeding earlier leapt onto him, burying his snapping jaws into his neck and sending him falling with a great thud. He accidentally let off a shot that flew straight into one of the other officers, distracting the one closest to the scene, who immediately turned his fire onto the boy, panicking in the heat of the moment. As he did so, Chris sighted the MP5's spray hit Richards in the temple, killing him in an explosion of blood. The other remaining armed officer screamed as he was trampled, beaten and dismembered by the rampaging horde, ripping away at his body, even through his body armour. The final CO19 man walked backwards into the station as he fired his last few rounds into the mob, until his MP5 clicked in defeat, and he too was overrun.

Momentarily mesmerised by the chaos rapidly approaching him, Chris grabbed one of the first aid kits and followed the direction his friends had taken. Behind him, intelligible yaps and screams echoed after him, as the pounding of feet followed him. The monsters were unrelenting in their pursuit, chasing him all of the way to the end and through the fire escape to the car park, where the inspector sharply turned a corner towards his BMW, where Josh stood by the driver's side, aiming his gun at a few of the infected who had turned to intercept him from the front, but not firing.

"Get in the car!" Chris screamed at Joshua as he approached, sprinting faster the closer he knew he was to them. He narrowly avoided one hooded figure who tried to claw him smacking him hard with his clenched left fist, and managed to get into the car, Joshua promptly firing up the car, pulling away with a loud screech towards the battered gates. The PMH blared loud noises, and the whole windscreen lit up red as the infected crowd launched itself at the car, with Joshua bravely managing not to falter as he knocked them out of the way, unluckily snapping one wind mirror off as he managed to steer them off of the police grounds.

Through the back window, Daniel could plainly see some of the horde chasing them, whilst others were crowding around within the police station, tearing apart those still unfortunate to be alive inside. Their ear piercing screams, however, quickly faded, joining the new vocal melody that had engulfed the entirety of Great Britain, and could be heard wherever from wherever one might be.


End file.
